I DARE U
by Camikingst
Summary: If you are an artist in London and want to be someone in the art industry, you need to study in the Holmes Fine Arts Academy and kiss the uptight Holmes siblings arses on a daily basis, unless you are Jim Moriarty, in that case you'll find a way to make the Holmes siblings to bend at your command, specially the middle one.
1. Chapter 1

The aching of his body slowly faded as the boiling water fell over his skin numbing his senses, another day had begun, having no alternative and his humdrum routine started all over again. He turned the shower off when the red color of his skin was threatening enough for him to believe it would peel off his body and he moved to his walk-in wardrobe with a towel small enough to be considered obscene wrapped around his waist, ready to choose one of his perfectly fashionable outfits to wear for the day.

There was a time he actually found a little bit of joy out of picking his attire everyday, now it was just another step in his long list of things to do for the day. However he always managed to look absolutely stunning, everytime he glanced at himself in the mirror before he left his house. After all there was not one single piece of cloth in his wardrobe that wouldn't pass out a designer's check of approval, like his father used to say «the way you look on the outside is a reflection of what you are internally, wear rags and people shall treat you as the shit you really are». He couldn't recall a single time he had dressed poorly in front of his late father, and yet he also couldn't remember a single time his father had treated him any different to a homeless crossing him on the street.

Truth be told he was plenty sure his old father barely understood half of the rubbish that came out of his mouth, when he was alive. Like that quote for example, nice clothes had never changed the way he felt inside, how come all those designer attires could reflect all the actual bullshit he was inside? And then there was how people treated him, well dressed or not, it made no difference on how people addressed to him, either full of disdain, fear or complete hypocrisy, one hundred percent of the time.

He was no fool, he knew the few people he called friends, merely put up with him because he was rich and somewhat talented at what he did, not for one moment he thought their supposed affection came out of their altruistic selfless golden hearts. But he kept them around in case he could have some use out of them occasionally. Sebastian Moran was a good lay, for when he was in need of some mindless rough shag, no strings attached, just incredibly hot sex and nobody to worry about the next morning. Irene Addler, now she was one of the good ones, someone with an actual brain, always available when he was in need to bitch about Mr. stick in the arse Sherlock Holmes which was basically every single minute of every single day.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he was a block away from the Holmes Fine Arts academy and a navy blue Lamborghini came out of nowhere almost running over his motorcycle, forcing him to skid on te asphalt, making him end up inches away to be out of the road. He jumped off his bike when the car stopped after the driver slammed the breaks audibly behind him, he was ready to break the motherfucker's car lights with a kick, but when he saw the person climbing off the car he decided against it and go for his jaw instead.

"James!" Sherlock fucking Holmes breathed out running towards his bike with a worried expression taking over his features, "I swear I didn't see you, are you okay?"

"Do I seem okay? You could have killed me! Tell me something Holmes, is the stick up your arse too big to let you concentrate on the road or did you just overdo the heroin this morning?" Jim asked sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest after taking off his helmet.

Sherlock just scanned his body up and down without an immediate response, as if he was trying to figure out any possible injuries he could be trying to hide, he then stepped forward pulled Jim's chin up with his index finger and leaned to whisper in his ear.

"Maybe when we get to the academy, if you still want to know, I can show you just how big it is James," Jim froze in the spot, from all possible answers, that was definitely the last he would have imagined Sherlock Holmes would give him, he was also the last person he thought could possibly get a reaction out of his body when using a blatant flirtatious tone on him, and yet he now could feel the blood running to his face and to his—. No! This was not an appropriated reaction for Jim Moriarty, specially not towards Sherlock Holmes, he refused with all his will to appear flustered in front of the brunette boy he hated with all his strengths, so he pushed Sherlock away from him and slammed his helmet once across his chest, before he put it on and jumped onto his bike again.

"In your dreams Holmes," he spit out taking a last glance at the taller boy.

"Wait, how did you know?" Sherlock asked faking surprise dramatically, before Jim could take off on his bike with a loud sound of the engine.

Jim stopped on his parking place at the academy underground car park two minutes after the incident and watched from there how the navy blue Lamborghini stopped a few parking spaces away from his position. He made his way rapidly to the lift but the god damned thing didn't arrive on time for him to avoid the unwanted company.

Eurus Holmes made it to his side first, he hadn't even noticed she was in the car during the incident.

"I think you are right brother dear, he is totally losing it for you," she commented when Sherlock made it to their side giving Jim a head to toe glance.

Jim had to bite his tongue, in order to avoid giving up to their provocations.

"If he only wasn't a stubborn little prick, I would have already taken him innumerable times in the School's bathroom stalls," Jim felt his neck flush and mentally cursed the lift for taking so much time to arrive. And as if someone up there was hearing his prayers, the doors in front of him opened and he was able to jump inside in an attempt to scape the inevitable conversation, that now would take place in a really reduced place with near to no personal space.

"Woah, I didn't need that much information," Eurus complained punching her brother playfully as the door closed behind her back enclosing the three of them for the next torturing minute.

"Is probably for the best, the way I would have made him scream—, Mycroft would probably have us both expelled of the Academy before I could have finished him off properly," Sherlock added.

How was this not descriptive enough for Eurus to complain again? Jim didn't care enough to give it a second thought, he just scoffed and lifted his gaze from his phone, where he was pretending to read some texts, not able to endure more of Sherlock's bullshit.

"Is that so Sherlock?" He started hitting Sherlock repeatedly with his index finger on the chest until he collided with the wall behind him, "care to explain me who gave you the wrong idea of me letting you top?"

"Okaaay, this is me, see you later brother mine, Jimmy—," Jim barely noticed Eurus saying, before she jumped off the lift the moment the doors opened in some random floor.

Sherlock didn't even look at his sister as she left the lift dragging both their violin cases and whoever was waiting for the lift outside the door with her, so the poor soul wouldn't get involved in what had quickly escalated to a really heated discussion.

"And you care to explain me who gave you the wrong idea that I was talking about you?" Sherlock asked softly holding Jim's fuming gaze.

"I KNOW YOU WERE!" Jim shouted basically pining Sherlock to that wall with the weight of his body.

"No I really wasn't," he said calmly, "but by all means James, just name the place and time and I'll let you top me," He blatantly said pushing his body even closer to Jim's, "now that we both know that you are dying to do it," he slithered his hand between them brushing it over the growing bulk in Jim's skinny trousers, shocking the boy long enough for him to squeeze himself out of his power position an quickly leave the lift when the doors opened at the end of the trajectory.

AN/: Truthfully guys I have no idea where this came from, but dear god I'm fucking enjoying it—, I hope you are too, if that's so please let me know if I should continue this. XOXO pick up your crowns and stay evil.


	2. Chapter 2

He was Jim Moriarty. The best dancer attending the Holmes Fine Arts Academy. An actual prodigy in the matter, a proper genius if you will. One no many could catch up with, unless of course he wanted to let them. He also was the one and only heir of the billion pounds worth Moriarty's theatre empire. And now he was reduced to be forced to jerk himself off in a bathroom stall by no other than Sherlock stupid Holmes.

Jim cracked his neck in a shift movement, biting his bottom lip as the release of his orgasm coated his hand in white. He was most definitely going to kill Sherlock Holmes at sight.

"Do you need any help with that," Sebastian Moran stood at the sink looking as his coated hand when he left the stall to wash it clean.

"Shut up Moran!" Jim growled sending him a deathly glare.

"Woah! Someone is in a bad mood, if I didn't know you better I would think jerking off in the bathroom would lift your spirit a bit pal," Sebastian said with a cocky smirk.

"What is that even supposed to mean, moron?" Jim said pinching the bridge of his nose when he finished washing his hands, he then turned on the faucet again to splash his face with cold water, he really wasn't in mood to put up with Sebastian's shit or anyone else's for that matter.

"Fuck off Moriarty," Sebastian hissed striding to the door, there was little to nothing that could make Sebastian Moran get mad, but one thing was sure if you ever called him a moron, you would certainly suffer the consequences.

What was he going to do anyway? Step on his foot while dancing? He could definitely survive that.

He dried his face and followed Sebastian to the Studio where they were due to have the first class of the day.

Sebastian ignored him the whole time while they waited for the professor to arrive and he as well as the others changed into more comfortable clothes and started stretching for the class.

"Good morning students-," the classroom fell silent instantly when the professor crossed the Studio's entrance, everyone perfectly aware of how much he hated them murmuring in his class,"as you must be well aware of, the semester is almost through and you have to start preparing the winter charity event, now the academy is world renowned for its flawless performances and creative pieces, this year however the direction board has decided for a collaborative work between the music and dance pupils, as a display of how versatile is the academy's student body and how well prepared students are to rise to the challenge of the on growing art industry-," the man said walking around the room scanning them as if he was deciding whether they were good enough for the challenge or not, "even when taken out of their comfort zones," he smirked somehow enjoying their unison panic gasps, "the music students will arrive soon and each of you will have to chose a partner to start preparing your pieces. Now, I don't think I have to advise you to choose wisely, because you will have to be a part of whatever is their speciality, with that I mean you will have to play their instruments just as flawlessly as they do and of course, teach them to dance on a similar level of expertise as yours."

The previous complete silence broke as soon as the professor finished his speech and the room filled with a thick murmur either of frantic excited words or just complete panicked complaints. Jim just ignored his peers and continued his stretch exercises trying to ignore how Sebastian Moran kept roaming around the room whispering something in their classmates ears while looking at him with disdain.

Was he spreading some kind of rumour about him? Jim honestly didn't care, not right now anyways. Not when he was about to be assigned to a probably incompetent music student with two left feet. His dance classmates were barely able to keep up with him, how was he supposed to train a complete amateur in the matter-, after all they only had two and a half months before the event, this was going to be a complete disaster.

He was sitting on the floor finishing his hamstring stretch routine, with his face and torso completely flat over his legs, trying to contain the scream of the frustration accumulating in his chest, as his racing mind kept listing everything that could go wrong with this, so called collaboration that the academy was imposing on them and suddenly the studio's door opened and a bunch of students entered the room.

Breathe in and breathe out. Breathe in and breathe out.

He got up from the floor, not really wanting to inspect on the incoming people, he was sure no one of them would do and this realisation would only make him want to scream even more, so he walked to the back of the room and slid down to the floor with his back against a wall while tuning his favourite playlist in his phone and closing his eyes to enjoy the music blaring out of his earphones. He would take whoever was left, whoever it was wouldn't change the fact that they were screwed and anyways it was not as if he would be the popular choice. Everyone hated him after all.

...

Sherlock walked in the room the last, his hands buried in his pockets, he gazed around the room and quickly found a feeling of disappointment settling down in his stomach, when he couldn't find the person he was expecting to find there, he tried to ignore it and started walking towards his sister.

The collaboration was such a bad idea, he was sure of this, he was also certain it was going to be a pain in the arse, specially the picking a partner part, since everyone would most likely want to pair up with him and he would have to break some hearts in the process. He wasn't being narcissistic or anything. He was just well aware of the popularity his name brought, everyone wanted to be his friend, everyone wanted to be around him most of the time, complete strangers, new students, professors, it was annoying to be honest. Everyone just wanted to please him one hundred percent of the time because he was a Holmes.

Eurus, of course, enjoyed of this advantage just so much, but he wasn't really someone to enjoy socialising that much, people made him bored. Adulation made him angry. And desperation was just pitiful.

An excitement murmur filled the room when he walked in, the entire female population of dancers started bouncing on their toes, like some kindergarten class, excited over a surprise cookie jar the professor just brought out.

He rolled his eyes at this, but then something happened. Sebastian Moran who he recognised for being one of Jim's closest friends cleared his throat.

"Come on gals, you know mister Holmes can't just dance with all of you, don't you?" Sebastian tone sounded somehow like a threat and every single one of the girls pouted and moved on to find another partner, like he was not even there.

At least this would be and easier task, he thought, making a mental note to thank Sebastian later. Now he just needed to pick a partner. Eurus was rapidly surrounded by most of the guys and even some of the girls previously interested in him and she saw her playing "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," to in the end opt for Sebastian.

The guy bowed and kissed her hand like a proper fairy tale prince, before he dragged her out of the crowd.

Sherlock looked around for a while, most of the the people in the room were now in pairs but he spotted his friend John in a corner talking with his not so secret crush, Mary and who seemed to be Irene Addler, this was going to be good. Yes, if James for whatever reason wasn't in the collaboration. At least he could pair up with Irene Addler, she was a pretty good dancer and not boring at all and most importantly, Jim's best friend so he at least would get a chance to be around Jim more and keep up with the game he decided to start playing this morning. Making Jim Moriarty uncomfortable had proven to be a very entertaining task.

"John, I take by your flushed cheeks and goofy smile, that Mary invited you to pair up," Sherlock said making his presence known by the trio and John just nodded like an idiot.

"Yes, I did," Mary giggled fascinated by John's flustered expression, she liked him. Good for John.

"I still don't have a partner can you believe that?" Sherlock asked them with a huge smile, this was new. He could get used to this, not being stalked all the time felt nice.

"Oh, well, that's because Sebastian threatened everyone on releasing their deepest secrets if anyone paired up with you," Irene interrupted.

"I see," Sherlock shrugged not caring that much, "at least now I can pick whoever I want, I guess," Sherlock said, "besides you are his friend, he won't be dropping any secrets he has on you right?" he asked, offering his hand to her, as if he was inviting her to dance.

Instead of taking his hand she stepped closer to him and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

"I'm really honoured Sherly, but this time Sebastian has a big one on me and besides I'm much more into girls," she said.

"Okay then, but at least tell me why is Sebastian Moran suddenly so interested in who I pair up with," Sherlock asked a little bit interested now that he understood why the girls would just look away from him so suddenly.

"Isn't that obvious? Jim apparently made him angry, so as a punish he wants to pair you up with him," Sherlock smirked at this and his eyes again scanned the room, he still couldn't see Jim.

"He's over there, playing invisible man," Irene said pointing at the farthest corner of the studio where Jim was sitting with his back against the wall and his face hidden by some piled up duffel bags, "Now, I think I'm going to steal your sister from that moron, wish me luck," she added addressing to Sebastian with his hand.

"Break a leg," Sherlock told her unable to control the excitement in his voice, John looked at him with a shocked expression not accustomed to see his friend excite over anything, "now don't look at me like that, the game John, is on!" he twirled around and started walking towards the other boy.


	3. Chapter 3

Jim sat there in the back of the studio, Muse's version of «feeling good» blaring in his ears, the volume so high he was sure if anyone approached to less than 9 feet of his position, they would be able to discern the lyric of the song completely, he wondered if that person would think it was stupid to believe the sun in the sky or the shining stars, or any other most likely non sentient thing named in the song, could actually know how you feel. Like Muse did. No, probably not even Muse would believe it, after all it was just a cover, not their actual song.

He bounced his head back and forth hitting the wall softly while the melody reverberated in his ears, wondering how much force he would have to apply to this action, for it to stain the pristine white wall red.

Would the school force him to clean? Or they would just demand an exaggerated amount of money to cover the repaint? Probably the latest. The Holmes just never miss an opportunity to get some monetary benefit out of the pain of others.

"I don't think that's a good enough appreciation of what we do, James," Someone said pulling one of his earphones off.

"W-what?" Jim jumped startled at the unexpected company, opening his eyes to find Sherlock Holmes crouching down in front of him, staring directly into his eyes. Apparently he had spoke his last thought out loud and Sherlock just had decided to take back at the comment by giving him a heart attack.

"I think it is more accurate to say, we seize the benefits provided by the pain, blood and sweat of others, but that's just my opinion," Sherlock shrugged.

"What are you doing here?" Jim rolled his eyes, popping the remaining earphone off his ear, while making a gesture with his hands for Sherlock to take a little distance, so he could stand up.

"Well, I don't know if you missed the entire «we are screwed» speech, but since you didn't care to take part of the whole collaboration dynamic, I came here to tell you, that you were sadly paired up with the only musician, no one else wanted to invite," the violinist said getting to his feet, to give Jim the space he needed to get up and offering him a hand to help him do so.

"And well—? Why doesn't said musician come here and tell me this by their own?" Jim got up from the floor ignoring Sherlock's offered hand.

"He already did," Sherlock winked.

"W-what?"

"You are not very eloquent today. Are you, James?"

"How is that no one else picked you, you are—, you are Mr. popularity Holmes! What the actual fuck? Tell me you are lying, you can't be my—, MY FUCKING PARTNER!" By the moment Jim finished his phrase, or to be more precise yelled it in Sherlock's face, the whole class had their attention glued on them, Sherlock's shoulders had sunk to the ground and he was not holding Jim's gaze anymore.

Jim gulped stepping away from Sherlock, he then brushed his hair backward with one hand and scratched the back of his neck with the other. Suddenly feeling self-conscious under all those glances judging him.

"Thank you Mr. Moriarty, but I won't accept swearing in my classroom," the professor broke the crushing silence Jim suddenly was too aware of, "Now that all the couples are settled, please move on and write your names on the form I taped to the door, so you get you corresponding rehearsal studios assigned for the rest of the semester, since this is a new dynamic in the academy and there are not enough tutors for each couple, you will have private sessions programmed for material and choreography revision with the tutors but as for the rest of the time, those studios will be your new homes. What are you waiting for? Off you go."

Jim looked over his shoulder expecting some defiant glare from Sherlock, but he was not longer there, he looked around and saw the tall boy making his way to the door, somehow arriving there before anyone else to sign the form and then leave the classroom without even giving him a look. Jim picked his duffel bag from the floor and made his way to the now crowded door, when the crowd cleared, he signed in front of Sherlock's name and memorised the number of the studio they were given in the form.

Why was this his life? Sherlock Holmes from all musicians in that class, really?

"Enjoy my gift, Jimmy, didn't have time to wrap it since this was so sudden, but the sentiment is the same," Sebastian said wrapping an arm around Jim's shoulders.

"You did this!?" He wanted to scream. No, he wanted to wrap his hands around Sebastian's neck and squeeze. Yes, definitely that's what he wanted, the glorious sound of a popping neck, that would do for him.

"You'll think twice, the next time you decide it is okay to call me moron," the boy just said walking away with some random guy Jim didn't know and a gigantic cello case over his back.

...

The Holmes Academy was an enormous complex that more resembled to a maze. Thirty storeys high, from which only the last three were administrative facilities and the rest were an intricate mix of classrooms, auditoriums and studios, named by both numbers and letters. He was supposed to find the studio 10 - U, which meant he had to basically walk through every bloody corridor on the 21st storey and personally check every single door's tag until he found the correct one. Because don't let yourself be fooled by the obvious letter reference to the floor number, the person who had distributed the tags apparently had a serious issue following a numerical order, since it followed no number system known by mankind. Jim was sure of this given that he had made an exhaustive research, after being late to basically every single one of his lessons, on his first week at the Academy. Sometimes he wondered if it wasn't just a big elaborated prank, from some smartarse student with just too much free time at the end of the school terms, because he could swear the tags just changed every time they came back from holidays, he just wished it had occurred to him in first place, at least he would know where he had to go now to find this stupid studio.

It had been more than fifteen minutes since he had started wandering through the corridors in that damn floor and still nothing, it was completely ridiculous and he was starting to lose his already worn out patience. He was about to bail, go home and try better luck next day or maybe even next week, he was in no rush to meet with Sherlock Holmes at least not anytime soon, but when he made up his mind to go back and walk all the way to the lift, he heard it, the indistinct sound of a violin. His mind automatically went to Sherlock. But could it be Sherlock, when the song being played was just so much like Jim and not at all like him?

He followed the melody down the hallway and soon found himself in front of the studio he had been looking for, 10 - U read in the door tag and he couldn't stop himself from thinking that printed one looked more like a I than a one. He shrugged and pushed the half opened door to let himself in, much more interested in the guy behind the door, playing one of his favorite songs.

Sherlock didn't as much as flinch when the door sounded loudly after Jim closed it, neither did he turn around when Jim's bag slammed somewhere against a mirrored wall or stopped playing his violin when Jim's approaching steps echoed over the wooden ground.

Jim bit his bottom lip, all the events of that morning concerning Sherlock playing in his mind on repeat, as he cut his distance between him an the taller guy. Truth be told he had always found Sherlock attractive, this attraction always shadowed by the heavy disdain he insisted on professing towards him when anyone was around, but still present nevertheless. As a proof of that, was his reaction in the lift that morning. Sherlock had merely thrown him a flirtatious smirk and there he was drooling like an infatuated teenager. That was simply unacceptable.

Who ever even said he had to be the prey in this game of his? After all Jim Moriarty knew very damn well how to play the predator.

"Do you really want—," Jim sang when he was a step away from Sherlock, he didn't even let a note of his violin slip at this, "do you really want me—," he continued stepping forward until his body smashed against Sherlock's back, he continued playing, "do yo really want me dead—," Jim wrapped his arms around his waist no longer singing but rather whispering against the back of his neck. No reaction at all. What the fuck? Was Sherlock a machine or what? "—or alive to torture for my sins—," his arms almost unconsciously slid up Sherlock's chest, "Do you really want—," Sherlock leant into the embrace, this wasn't weird at all, "do you really want me—," Sherlock started to turn around in his arms, "do you really want me dead—," Jim's breath hitched for a tortuously long moment.

"Or alive to live—" Sherlock whispered stretching the last word for what seemed like minutes to Jim, the shorter boy's arms went limp at his sides and the previous courageous attitude that had taken over him when he was approaching Sherlock suddenly disappeared. Sherlock's violin and bow now laid silently in his left hand and he used his right hand to cup Jim's neck impeding him to step away, "— a lie," he finished looking intermittently between Jim's dark eyes and parted lips, so close, so available.

 **AN/: Okay yes, for me Jim is a young adult who once was an emo teenager obsessed with 30 second to Mars, My Chemical Romance and Panic! at the Disco and still can't get rid of his love for their music and probably never will. Can you blame me for this? Probably yes... Anyways, pick up your crowns and stay evil -xoxo.**


	4. Chapter 4

This was it, Jim thought, consumed by the crystal mesmerising poison that were Sherlock's deep sea blue eyes. The definitive breaking point of their relationship. The epitome of when their hate transformed into something that could eventually become love.

Sherlock's hand felt warm against the back of his neck and so did his breath now colliding on his craving parted lips.

"Sherlock," Jim mumbled almost inaudibly. Begging internally for the boy to lean in. He waited, holding his breath for what seemed like hours. What was Sherlock waiting for?

If it wasn't because Jim felt literally paralysed, he would have already beaten the shit out of Sherlock for being so fucking slow. And it was then when Jim was about to submit himself, to the furious rage that only Sherlock could bring out of him, that the curly haired boy finally leant closer. So Jim did the only thing that was left for him to do, he closed his eyes and waited for the delicious taste of victory.

"So good you could make it, James, I thought you were lost," Sherlock whispered in Jim's ear making his eyes immediately fly open again and then he just dropped the hand from his neck and walked away.

Epitome of hate becoming love. More like hate, becoming deep wholehearted hatred.

What was he thinking?

This was Sherlock Holmes, the best musician in the Holmes Fine Arts Academy, had actually earned that tittle by hard work and not just his name. Only shadowed by his sister Eurus, who was actually a violin prodigy, but rarely interested in any other subject than this. He by other hand, played and big amount of instruments, but still decanted for the violin, even when his sister surpassed him completely at playing it. Narcissistic, self centred, privileged piece of shit, clever jerk with no filter, could rarely keep his trap shut, had a compulsive obsession on having the last word in any argument, because he always believed he was right and he truly most of the time he was. Former drug addict with eventual relapses, regarding big amounts of cocaine and heroin. The black sheep of the Holmes family according to the press, which actually gave him the status of a bad rotten boy, and consequently drove every single girl in the academy bonkers about him, to the point of being completely unable to keep their knickers on, when he was around. Jim absolutely hated him.

He restrained himself from screaming in Sherlock's face and resisted the temptation of slapping his cheekbony face with the back of his hand.

"The only reason I was not here before, Sherlock, was because I just really didn't want to come," he said instead in a dull tone, like that was the understatement of the year, but he still didn't give two shits about it.

"No shit," Sherlock responded sarcastically, emphasising Jim's words.

"Sherlock—," Jim interrupted his sarcastic remark, "shut your fucking trap!" he yelled this time.

Surprisingly Sherlock actually did, which managed to make Jim feel somehow odd, since he was accustomed to the brunette boy's clever and always eloquent counterattacks. It didn't matter the place or moment, the more aggressively Jim would attack Sherlock the more he would just come back for more. It was truthfully infuriating, but if he had to be honest, having him in front just staring blankly at him, with no response, while he was furiously yelling in his face, was even more upsetting and enervating.

"As you want, James," Sherlock finally said, after a while of holding a stare contest with Jim, who was sure he was going to lose at some point, however the taller boy's voice was full with sorrow and Jim automatically regretted yelling at all.

Maybe he wasn't seeing the big picture here, maybe he was reading all wrong.

"Sherlock—," he started, guilt quickly crawling up his inner walls.

"Look, I get it James, you don't like me very much," Sherlock interrupted Jim's apolo—, was he really going to apologise? He truthfully wasn't sure, he was not someone for apologies, he didn't really know how to do it, it was simply not in his DNA. He was also no one to feel guilt, and yet here it was, consuming his insides like a cigarette spark burning an entire forest in minutes during a drought. "I think that's what makes you so interesting in my eyes, that unlike any other student or person in this academy, I am nothing in your eyes, and just for a second, when you look at me with that deep hate you feel, I can stop being just a glorified last name and I get to be who I am. However, if this is such a big inconvenient to you, I can always have a word with the professor and get you another companion."

Sherlock was a lot of things in his eyes, but NOTHING definitely wasn't one of those.

Jim gulped, as a big knot installed down his throat.

Was it possible that all this time he had spent professing disdain to Sherlock Holmes, the boy was only craving for more? Could Sherlock really feel so lost in a his world of privilege and praises to actively seek acknowledgement in someone that only had hate as an immediate response? But more importantly, did he actually hate Sherlock Holmes?

"Don't be absurd Sherlock, why don't you better shut up, so we can start planning our number?" Jim said avoiding Sherlock's eyes at all cost, he wanted to say something else to the boy, apologise maybe, he really didn't know, but he just couldn't find the words, so he did what his late father taught him to do, to deal with a situation like this, he just avoided all mention of it and waited for it to disappear.

The rest of the day they talked about music genres, rhythms, choreography, scenery, wardrobe and everything they wanted to do in their number. Of course it was just brainstorming and most of the ideas would be just eradicated either by them or their tutors when they delivered their final propose for the show, but it was a great start. To Jim's surprise Sherlock sounded ambitious about the dancing part, throwing ideas he knew any musician in his class wouldn't even want to go near to. This made him wonder, if maybe Sherlock Holmes had some secret talents he didn't know about and he guessed he was going to find out soon enough. Sherlock also expressed his desire to go for a electric violin number, instead of his traditional acoustic one, which was new for him but made him visibly excited, given that, according to him it would allow him to teach Jim while also getting a grip at it himself, and on top of that they would be able to go for a more freestyle dance, instead of the boring dances he always had to endure in the school events.

"At least now I know I've always had a fan in the crowd," Jim said ironically, a little offended by his words and Sherlock just shrugged.

"Do something less boring next time and I'll even wear a printed Tee-shirt and shout your name from the crowd," he offered.

"Do I get to pick the Tee's design?" Jim asked and Sherlock nodded in response, "alright then, you got yourself a deal."

When the school hours came to an end both of them started packing their stuff and headed to the door.

Sherlock was the one to reach for the handle, but before he could pull the door completely open, Jim placed his hand on the wooden surface and pushed it closed again.

"Wait Sherlock, there is something I need to know before you go, or its only going to drive me crazy for the rest of the night," he said and Sherlock turned around to face him, his back now leaning against the door.

"What is it—?" he asked, when the other just stood there in complete silence.

Jim inhaled deeply and then just dropped his question so fast it was difficult to discern between words.

"Were you planning to kiss me back then," he pointed over his shoulder to the exact spot everything happened that morning, "or were you just messing around with me like the rest of the day?"

"I wasn't messing around with you during the day," came as response and Jim's eyebrows darted up at the possible implications of that statement.

"But, were your intentions to kiss me though?" Jim asked still not satisfied by the answer.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you then?"

"Why do you wanna know?" Sherlock asked crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"Don't respond to my question with another question Sherlock—," he scolded impatiently tapping his feet on the floor.

"I was waiting for you to respond, to show willingness and you did not, so I thought it was better to back off, before you drilled a hole in my face with your fist," the curly haired boy explained still holding the perfect barrier of his arms shielding his torso, while a faint red colour spread over the pale surface of his skin.

"You are an idiot."

"Well—, Excuse me if I have a little respect for my beautiful bone structure," Sherlock shrugged looking away.

"No, YOU ARE AN IDIOT!" Jim repeated, pulling from his chin to make him look his way again.

"You've already made your point clear, Jam—," he couldn't finish, since his retort was being placated by Jim's lips, before he could even register what was going on.


	5. Chapter 5

Life is just a long chain of unexpected situations, correlated to one particular fucked up individual and the shitty environment surrounding them. His, had suddenly taken one of those unexpected turns that could drive one man insane, wrapping itself around Sherlock Holmes like an enfolding straitjacket, squeezing out the last bit of sanity he had left. Whether this turn was fortunate or unfortunate he hadn't decided yet, but the uncertainty of the matter had been spinning around his mind for longer than he would willingly admit.

Jim spun around in his black leather chair, facing his mahogany wooden desk again, he had been absently looking out the window enough time for the sky to turn dark and starry. A pile of documents laid in front of him untouched, he normally would be half through it all at this time, signing authorisations and reviewing contracts, the directive board of the Moriarty Regal Theatre would kindly sent him to review. He wasn't actively attending to every reunion of the board, because of his studies and tight schedule, but as the one and only heir of his late father's empire, the board nevertheless needed his approval for the most important decisions they discussed. Which meant he spent many hours a week, reading meetings reports and signing document after document, unless he didn't agreed with what the rest of the board had already approved. Overall, the rest of the directives were quite competent, so he almost never had to deny any of their requests, but he still liked to read everything he signed from beginning to end with no exceptions, Sherlock however was proving to be a big distraction, that would make of this task a particularly difficult one, for him to complete.

Finally, he had been able to push Sherlock out of his mind, long enough to read most of the documents completely, when his phone's notification tone went off.

 _Does this mean we are friends now? -SH_

He checked the time in his screen and it was past midnight, what was Sherlock doing up so late? And why was he texting him so late for that matter?

 _Can you stop overthinking everything Sherlock Holmes? - JM xoxo_

Alright, he had just sent kisses and hugs to Sherlock Holmes. Was he really expecting Mr. clever boy to stop overthinking everything? Probably not, since he had just added fire to the nonstop engine mechanism of his mind.

 _Apparently not, Can I call you? - SH_

Jim's heart jumped at the possibility of such a call.

 _If you must. - JM xoxo_

His phone ringtone went off, before he could even put it down on the desk.

"Sherlock," he answered sliding his finger across the screen and tapping on the speaker.

"Did I wake you?"

Nope.

"Yes," he singsonged.

"Sorry, should I call back tomorrow?"

For Christ sake! Was he for real?

"You didn't wake me Sherlock, what can I do for you, pretty boy?" Sherlock for sure wasn't going to be able to sleep for the next month, if he carried on with that.

"Oh great, that's great, ern—," where was the overconfident flirty Sherlock from that morning?

"Sherlock—," he started in a warning tone, although he actually found speechless Sherlock, incredibly adorable.

"I was wondering, if you would like to come with me to check on some electric violins in the store, tomorrow after class, I would like to buy one, maybe have a drink after that."

"That sounds awfully similar to a date," Jim commented.

"Well, if you want to call it that, I wouldn't care," Sherlock said, flirty voice back on.

"Alright," he answered.

"Alright, as in you want to call it that, or alright, as in you want to come with me?" Sherlock rushed to ask.

"Alright," Jim repeated a smirk spreading across his face.

"Alright—," Sherlock whispered and Jim remained silent, "so, are we friends now?"

"Wait a second Sherlock, I think my jukebox went off and it's playing the same song over and over," Jim deadpanned.

"I'm serious James, I wanna know, do we still hate each other? No, actually, I never hated you, so, what I really wanna know is, do you still hate me, Jim Moriarty?"

"You are proving yourself to be really annoying right now," Jim let out.

"Do you hate me though?"

"Good night Sherlock," Jim singsonged.

"What? No wait!" He hung up the phone.

He wasn't purposedly trying to piss Sherlock off, not this time anyway, he actually didn't know the answers to any of his questions, therefore he just did what he did best and acted like a dick, cutting him off, because God forbids that Sherlock Holmes ever find out Jim Moriarty was as clueless as himself in this matter.

Did he hate Sherlock Holmes? He didn't even know why he started hating him all those years ago. Were they friends now? Maybe, maybe something else even, he surely didn't want to settle for the word friends, but, was he going to act on it and try for something else? He didn't know. Going back to hate and be away from the boy also didn't sound quite appealing though. But what was it then? Was he just collecting another pretty fuck toy? Someone like his precious Seb? A toy to call over in lonely nights and let go before sunrise? The idea of Sherlock Holmes sneaking out his house at midnight, before he woke up made him feel suddenly angry and he slammed his hands over his desk making the paperwork jump in the process. Alright, maybe it was time for him to go to sleep as well.

He checked his phone one last time, when he was snuggling in his king sized bed.

 _Good night Jim, - SH xoxo_

A warm feeling spread across his chest and a smile upon his face. Maybe he did want something else with Sherlock Holmes.

...

He reached the rehearsal room early that morning and he was surprised to find Sherlock already in the studio, when he walked past the 10 - U labeled door.

"Sherlock," he greeted.

"James," Sherlock replied, but he didn't turn around to look at him and this made him frown.

"Are you ready for me to show you how to dance?" Jim asked with a smirk.

"Actually I am," he finally turned around, making a gesture with his hands for Jim to notice his attire, he was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a really tight white v neck T-shirt with a giant print on the front, _show me that split leap, pretty boy,_ it read.

Jim chuckled.

"Did you have that made for me with such a short notice? I'm flattered," he said and Sherlock shrugged.

"I have my ways."

"Good to know," Jim stated, dropping his duffel bag on the corner, he as well as Sherlock, had decided to come prepared and was already wearing his dance clothes, "shall we start then?"

"Be my guest," the taller boy answered, showing Jim his MacBook, that was placed on top of the only chair in the room, letting him know he could put some track there, to start their rehearsal, "shouldn't you stretch first though?"

"I'll just show you some easy moves, I think I'll survive," Jim rolled his eyes.

"You're the expert," Sherlock shrugged.

"Okay, since we agreed we want to do something more freestyle, I was thinking we can start with some hip hop, see how you manage and move on from there, how does that sound?"

"Whatever you decide, is good for me."

"Alright, let's do this then," Jim said, playing some hip hop beat on YouTube, the music started and he walked near the other boy, "I'm going to do some moves, and then you try to replicate them, ready?"

"I'll try," Sherlock said noncommittally.

Jim started with some basic moves and when it was Sherlock's turn, he replicated them flawlessly, if Jim was surprised by this, he didn't show it, these were merely basic moves, anyone with actual motor coordination could achieve them, let's not get our hopes too high now Jimmy. He increased the level of difficulty a notch and again Sherlock did just fine. Another level, Sherlock mimicked exactly. This was quickly becoming personal. As Jim continued increasing the difficulty and Sherlock mirrored his actions in a perfect manner, Jim's frustration grew exponentially proportional to Sherlock's wide smirk upon his face.

The track that was sounding ended and the autoplay feature on YouTube played an indie rock slower song, Jim stopped for a second, a wicked smile spreading through his lips faster than a rifle shot smashing a skull apart. He took some impulse and performed the best of his split leaps in the air. There it was, he had won, maybe Sherlock was more coordinated than the average musician, maybe he managed to achieve some good hip hop moves, but there was no way some amateur dancer, could accomplish something that took ballet dancers months and even years to perfect. And when he turned around to face the other boy with the biggest mocking grin plastered on his face, Sherlock just did it, he leaped and did a perfectly decent split in the air, he landed roughly on the floor, but managed to balance himself and make a bow.

"You are unbelievable Sherlock Holmes," Jim bursted into laughter.

"I know," Sherlock agreed, pulling him closer by his wrist, Jim's laughter died, when he crashed against the taller boy's chest, "can I kiss you now, James?"

"Not if you have to ask," Jim clicked his tongue, holding Sherlock's gaze.

"I will kiss you now James," Sherlock changed his approach.

"Only if you must," Jim shrugged, but before he could say anything else Sherlock's lips crashed over his own.


	6. Chapter 6

They were only one day into rehearsal and Jim already could see how they maybe weren't so screwed after all, Sherlock Holmes could actually dance and he did it really well, he needed some practice of course and he was a little rusty, but it was obvious, that Sherlock had gone under several years of dance training in the past.

Why Sherlock ever stopped dancing? Was still a mystery for Jim, but seeing what he could do and the  
chemistry they both shared on the dance floor, was starting to make him feel, like that boy could actually be the missing piece he had been searching for so long, that, of course, sounded incredibly cheesy and like something you read in some teenage sappy book, but Sherlock was probably the first person in this academy, that could actually, with a little bit of trainig, catch up with him and he was far from letting this opportunity go.

"So—?" Sherlock asked him, when the lift stopped in the underground car park.

"Sorry, what?" Jim replied, distracted by his own thoughts.

"I asked you if you have a problem leaving your bike here? I also offered to give you a ride in the morning, so you can come back to the academy, if that's a problem," Sherlock repeated.

"Hell no! There is no way I'm riding that car of yours, specially after I saw how bad of a driver you are. You almost run over me the other day!" Jim stated, handing Sherlock the helmet he had just pulled out of his locker on their way down here, "you are riding with me today, you can let your sister take your car back home."

"First, that was yesterday and second, you came out of nowhere. But okay, I'll ride with you if you want, just let me text my sister to come for the keys," Sherlock agreed.

"Irene texted me five minutes ago, she said they were finishing for the day as well, so they should be here soon."

"Cool."

"Cool."

They spent the next couple of minutes enduring the awkwardest of silences, waiting near the elevator, until the doors opened and the two girls finally walked out of them.

"Sherly, were you waiting for me? How sweet of you, but I actually came to tell you that I'm planning to hang out with Irene, so I think I'll be taking a taxi back home, later."

"Oh well, I think is your lucky day, little monster, you are in charge of the lambo for the rest of day," Sherlock smiled showing her the keys.

"Really?" Eurus eyes shined and a mischievous smile lighted up her features.

"I want it back without a scratch, you hear that sis? Not a single one or you are death," he threatened giving her the keys.

"I promise," she said, " girl scout's honor."

"You were never a girl scout, Eurus, and I've heard that before," Sherlock deadpanned.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but anyway, why are you giving me the car? Where are you going? You never go out. Wait better question, who are you going with?" She turned around to see Irene talking with Jim, who was leaning against the wall besides the lift door. Honestly, she didn't know how she hadn't seen him when the doors opened, "Oh, I see, you got yourself a date with your crush, how cute," she whispered mockingly.

"Will you shut up now, before they hear you!" Sherlock complained pulling of her arm to take her further away from the other two, but before he could stop her, she shook his hand off her arm and approached them running to their side.

He should know better than to try and deny something to his sister.

"Jim, my brother wanted you to know he has this enormous crush on you, since he first met you and—," she couldn't continue because of Sherlock hand now firmly muffling her words.

"Tell me something I don't know," Jim answered, making Sherlock's blood immediately run to his cheeks.

"Can we leave now?" the tall boy pleaded, letting go of his sister.

"Whatever you want, pretty boy," Jim winked walking towards him and grabbing his hand, "see you around girls and please do not spread the word of our totally secret relationship to everyone around here, okay?"

"Are you insane, Jim? Thanks to that, by tonight, our non-existent and supposedly secret relationship will be in everyone's mouth," Sherlock nudged him in the arm with his free hand, because the other was still firmly gripped in Jim's hand."

"That's the intend, idiot, if we are going to do this, I'm not up to have every girl in the academy actively trying to take a bite of you, I'm not generous that way," Jim shrugged, clicking his tongue.

"Seems to me that you are a bit possessive."

"Seems to me that I don't give a fuck, if you think I am possessive, it is what it is, whether you want to take it or whether you want to leave it," Jim said taking his hand away, but Sherlock just reached out and grabbed it again.

"Okay," Sherlock simply said.

They jumped on Jim's motorcycle and at first Sherlock was doubtful of whether he should hug Jim or just hold on to the seat with all his strength.

"Alright idiot, if you don't hold on to me and some bad driver like yourself gets in our way, you'll most likely going to end up laying lifeless in the pavement and I'll be forced to kick the death out of you, for daring to die under my care, so fucking hug me already," Jim threatened before he started the engine.

"If you so desperately wanted me to hug you, you just needed to ask, James, there was no need for you to threaten my corpse like that," the tall boy sassed.

"Excuse me, pretty boy, can you please hug me with those strong arms of yours? I desperately need to feel the strength of them wrapping around my torso, like two big—," Jim started talking in a dirty tone.

"Alright, alright, there is no need for that either, James," Sherlock rolled his eyes, adjusting his helmet and wrapping his arms around Jim's waist.

"That's more like it," was the last thing Jim said, before he put on his own helmet and the blaring noise of the engine of his bike flooded the place.

...

Watching Sherlock run from side to side of the violins section of the store, was pretty much like watching a little kid trying to decide what of all the toys in the shelves he wanted to get for Christmas. With all the minutes he passed leaning against the opposite shelf to Sherlock, watching him, it became more and more obvious before his eyes, why Sherlock had given up on dancing and settled for music instead. You could see the passion lightning up his eyes, everytime the store attendant pulled one of the instruments from the shelf for him to try. Music was more than enough for him. He would even dare to say it was his everything.

"Is that the one, pretty boy?" Jim asked when Sherlock spent more than one minute playing the same violin.

"I think so, yes," Sherlock smiled excited, approaching over him to let him check it out.

"Are you sure that's a violin? It looks more like a hatchet if you ask me," he commented, sliding his slender fingers across the half moon shaped white instrument.

"I don't know, did you bring me to the right store? Or did you stop at the tools warehouse by mistake?" Sherlock replied ironically, making him smile.

He loved smartass Sherlock. Wait, no he had always hated when Sherlock sassed his way out of his insults, so, why was he feeling like smiling everytime he did it now?

"Are you ready to go then?" He asked trying to push his little mental debate to the back of his brain.

"Yeah, I guess, you'll hate me after I tell you this, but I actually forgot my wallet in the pocket of my tracksuit trousers at the academy, so I'll have to come back to purchase it later," Sherlock shrugged.

"Nonsense, we are already here, I'll pay for it," Jim told him, like it was not a big deal.

"I can't let you do that, James, it's too much," the taller boy started and he was rendered speechless by a single murderous glance Jim sent him.

"Come on Sherlock, that's nothing for me and you know it," he said pulling from Sherlock's hand to the counter to pay for the violin, the store attendant walking close behind them, "we'll take two of these, do you have this in black?" Jim asked the attendant as soon as she walked behind the counter, completely ignoring Sherlock's pout at his side.

"Yes, sir," the woman replied, amused by Sherlock's attitude.

"Alright then, have the second be black, can you have them both delivered to my house tonight?" Jim asked sliding his credit card over the counter.

"Of course, sir."

"Thanks," Jim smiled at the woman and finally turned around to look at Sherlock, who was half way through a silent tantrum, "come on Sherlock don't give me that look, I'll tell you something, I'll let you pay the drinks tonight."

"I forgot my wallet, you moron!"

"I never said that you would need money to pay for the drinks, pretty boy," Jim smirked, making Sherlock a bit unsettled by his innuendo tone.

The attendant handed Jim his credit card back and asked for the address he wanted them to deliver the instruments, after she had it written down, they left the establishment and he had to drag Sherlock down the street to his motorbike, because he had suddenly become a ball of nerves.

It was kind of cute the way Sherlock now actively avoided his gaze and blushed at everything he said. Thanks to this, Jim suddenly felt compelled to find other ways to make the flustered boy even more unsettled, he dropped a lot of innuendos and made sure to lean as close as he could to Sherlock's chest, when they were back riding the bike, he also brushed his hand on the boy's as soon as they stopped at any red light, but above all the little tortures he was putting Sherlock under, he knew that the one bothering him the most, was the fact that he was keeping their destination for himself and when he finally stopped in front of his mansion, he could clearly hear the accumulated stress in the musician's voice, when he asked where they were.

"Welcome to my home, pretty boy," Jim said waiting for Sherlock to get off the bike, but he didn't, so Jim removed his helmet and turned around to look at him, "it's just a house, you don't have to be so scared Holmes."

Cute or not, Jim was starting to miss the Sherlock, that just the day before had basically sexually harassed him in the lift.

"Technically it's a mansion," Sherlock corrected matter-of-factly.

"Mansion, castle, palace, whatever you want to call it, if that allows you to climb off my motorcycle," Jim rolled his eyes and this finally turned Sherlock's brain back on, because he automatically did as he was told.

"Why are we here? I thought we were going for a drink," Sherlock asked taking his helmet off as well.

"I have plenty of alcohol, don't worry," Jim winked.

"Believe me when I tell you, that alcohol is the last of my worries right now, James."

 **AN/: Hey guys, I know no many people is reading this, but for those of you who are, I have an important question, do you want to see virgin demisexual Sherlock here?**


	7. Chapter 7

Jim dropped his keys on the counter and he hanged both his black leather jacket and hooded gray top on the clothes rack by the door. He then offered to do the same with Sherlock's trench coat and when the tall boy shrugged the coat off, Jim's jaw dropped, Sherlock was wearing his purple button-up shirt, the one Irene and him had dubbed «Sherlock's purple shirt of sex», the lightly pinstriped, extremely well fitted purple shirt of sex.

"Can I offer you a drink?" he asked with unexpected hoarse voice, he showed Sherlock the way to the living room, letting him go in first, to run his eyes up an down the slim figure in front of him, a lopsided grin quickly taking over his features.

Earlier, when they were still at the academy, finishing up their rehersal of the day, Jim was a little taken aback, when he went directly to undress in the studio, but Sherlock insisted on going to find a bathroom to change his clothes. It surprised him because after all the time he had spend in the academy, he as well as the rest of his fellow dancer classmates, knew it was just more efficient to do it in the place, that, not only saved time, but avoided unwanted delays to their classes, which often were punished by either hard inhumane training imposed by the professor or no training at all, as they would be kicked out of the room before they could even open their mouths to explain their delay. Now he was a little glad Sherlock had changed in private, not sure he could have controlled himself watching the boy slowly dress up in that damned slim fit shirt.

"I suppose that depends on how you want me to pay for it," Sherlock replied snapping him out of his thoughts.

"You are a creative boy Sherlock, I think I'll let you find that out on your own," Jim winked, "now, what can I offer you? No, wait, let me guess—, you seem to me, a Gin and Tonic kind of guy, am I correct?"

"Brandy, actually," Sherlock said plopping down on the couch.

"Odd, but fortunatelly I think my father kept a few bottles of that, before he kindly passed away," Jim replied moving near the liquor cabinet in the corner of the room.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock awkwardly said, not very good at comforting people, or saying the right thing in these situations.

"Why are you sorry? I am certainly not," Jim shrugged pulling a bottle from the cabinet and two crystal glasses, "ice?"

"I drink it neat, but if you want—, by all means bring some," Sherlock replied and Jim simply plopped himself beside him.

"So, pretty boy," Jim started filling both glasses with the caramel colored liquid and handed one to Sherlock, " will you ever tell me why you quitted dancing?"

"Oh well, you know, growing up as a Holmes, I had to take all this artsy classes, my mom would push me into all kind of stuff, from painting to sculpture and music to dance, because it would let me better know which one was my real gift, I did pretty well in everything and she couldn't be more ecstatic about it, since Mycroft never wanted to get into any artistic subject and then when Eurus was born she wouldn't drop the violin for the world, so I was the one who had to do it all, I grew tired and eventually, when I went through adolescence, I decided to become the rebel one and dropped everything except for music because that was what I enjoyed the most," Jim listened to everything he had to say without interrupting him for a change, just sipping from his glass and scrunching his nose every now and then at the taste of the brandy, "I suppose, I never thought of how much I really missed dancing until now."

"I could pose nude for you to paint me, Titanic like and all," Jim dropped considering what to say after a while of Sherlock falling silent.

"That's really all you have to say?" Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, "I tell you I may be considering dancing again, and you drop a dirty remark? Of course you do."

"Aw, come on Sherlock, you were the one who started the dirty talks between us, may I remind you, that you even went as far as to grope me in the lift?" Jim wriggled his eyebrows, "where is that Sherlock now? I'm starting to miss him."

"Do you want to know where he is? Well, James, he is sitting right here," the taller boy said downing his glass of brandy in one sip.

"Nah, I don't think he is, you are just a bunch of nerves now, that Sherlock—, he was wild!" He said stretching the last word with that Irish accent of him, that managed to drive Sherlock insane.

"And you liked him just so much, didn't you, James?" Sherlock asked and Jim shrugged not wanting to give that question an answer.

Sherlock, contemplated his next move for a moment, then he got up and approached the stereo, placing his iPhone on the dock, he started to play some music.

"What are you doing?" Jim asked amused.

"I'm paying for the drink you kindly provided me," Sherlock replied.

"Is that so?" He began with a mocking tone that soon dropped, when he recognized the song playing. It was Buttons by The Pussycat Dolls. He gulped at the exact moment Sherlock jumped on his lap.

The tall boy straddled him, kneeling on the couch as he pushed him backwards against the cushioned backrest of the seat. Jim dropped his glass on the floor when Sherlock took possession of both his wrists, brandy and pieces of glass jumping everywhere. He honestly could not care less about this. His attention stuck to the intense green blue gray gaze in front of him. The musician brought Jim's hands to his hips and started moving them, in total sync with the rhythm of the music blaring out loud on the multiple speakers in the room.

Sherlock Holmes was in all sense of the word, rubbing against his crotch, forcing him to take deep slow breaths to try and control himself and his body impulses. It was really not working at all, with each twitch of Sherlock's hips, Jim felt closer to the edge of losing control. Sherlock leant in to claim his lips frantically and Jim's hands gripped at his hips in an attempt to pull him even closer, which was physically impossible. He then sucked on Sherlock's bottom lip, pulling it out enough to bite down on it hard afterwards, trying to regain a bit of the control he could feel physically slipping through his fingers to Sherlock's mesmerizing moving hips.

Just when the things were heating up enough, for Jim to start unbuttoning Sherlock's button-up shirt, trying to get rid of it like the song repeatedly suggested him to do, the doorbell sounded.

Fuck.

Sherlock jumped off his lap.

"The violins you insisted on buying arrived, James," the curly haired boy pointed out with a smug grin.

"Perfect timing," Jim huffed, making Sherlock's grin grow.

"Indeed."

After he closed the door Jim placed the instruments away from the couch, with the mere purpose of keeping them apart from Sherlock's grab, which he much preferred, to be focusing back on what they were doing before they were rudely interrupted by the delivery man.

Sherlock however had removed his shoes and now sat with his knees against his chest over the couch, drinking of his glass of brandy he had filled again while Jim attended the door.

Jim walked to the liquor cabinet again, feeling self-concious under the attentive glance of the tall boy, he brought out another glass, then returned to sit on the couch.

They drank more brandy than they should have, considering they had to be at the academy early in the morning and when Jim started to feel considerably tipsy, he pushed the bottle aside and told Sherlock they shouldn't drink no more.

Sherlock seemed to be doing better than him, but he still shrugged and put his glass aside, his legs still forming a perfectly effective wall between them.

"I should get going home," Sherlock stated starting to put his shoes back on.

"No—," Jim said with a pout, kicking one of Sherlock shoes under the couch, "why don't you stay some more? Better, why don't you stay the night?" Alright, maybe he had exceeded his drinking a little bit. He sounded like a little kid, asking his mom to let him play for five more minutes.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Sherlock eyebrows reached his scalp, almost as if he couldn't really believe, that Jim had actually spent the whole afternoon with him and still didn't grow tired of his company.

"Yup."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sherlock, I'm sure!"

"Alright."

"Alright."

"Should we go to bed now?"

"Probably."

...

Jim didn't know how exactly it happened, but he dragged Sherlock to his bedroom and before he knew it they were making out frantically over the bed.

Sherlock Holmes was a great kisser, his unbelievable soft lips and incredibly strong hands now clawing his hips, were enough to take his breath away and send his head spinning in an infinite whirlwind of bliss.

The kiss turned more and more heated each second, to the point Jim feared his groin was going to explode, if he didn't released the confining pressure of his tight skinny trousers around it. He flipped Sherlock over the mattress until he was the one on top, kissing the life out of the violinist's lips, as his hands slid down his slender frame. Sherlock Holmes had a gorgeous body, he could feel the tonned arms and muscular torso through the thin fabric of his fitted shirt, but he didn't stop to inspect that further, since his real goal was far beyond his waistband.

His hands slid across the edge of Sherlock's trousers, softly caressing the tender skin below. He didn't let go of Sherlock's lips and soon he felt how his breathing pace rapidly increased on the heat of the moment, or at least that's what he thought before he popped the button open and stuck his hand inside the boy's trousers.

Sherlock instantly froze. The rapid breathing, that Jim had confused with arousal now sounded more like panic. Jim jumped off the boy and kneeled on the bed at his side.

"Sherlock?"

Nothing.

"Are you okay?"

Nothing.

"Look—," Jim said brushing his hair backwards with his fingers, while looking intently at Sherlock's face, "if you are not into guys, I understand, I'm just sorry I didn't notice before," he looked down at his own groin and pulled a pillow over his lap, embarrassed by the visible bulk found there, unlike the situation going on in Sherlock's trousers.

"It's not that, James, I like you, very much so," Sherlock responded sitting up straight, his breathing normalized, but avoiding Jim's gaze.

"What is it then?" Jim asked softly, pulling of his chin with his index finger, with a reassuring smile upon his face. His own reaction surprinsing him, in any other case like this, he would have just yelled something at the guy in his bed and kick him out of the house without a single care, before he could even pick up his clothes. He didn't enjoy the taste of rejection. Except this was not some ramdom guy in his bed, it was Sherlock Holmes and for some reason, he didn't feel rejected, just concerned that he had ruinned things with the boy.

"I like you, James, like Eurus told you, I have a crush on you since I first met you, I Just need a more deeper emotional connection than the average person, before I can get in physical terms with somebody," Sherlock shrugged, "I understand I gave you the wrong impression, by acting like I did in that lift and then with the lap dance and everything else. It's just that there is something about you that makes me desire to tease you in that way, but I still need time to move further," Sherlock explained, "I know you work in a different way, of course and I'm not asking you to understand, it's simply the way I am."

"You are right, Sherlock, I don't work that way," Jim said jumping off the bed and walking to his wardrobe, "I'm one hundred percent physical, zero percent emotional," he raised his voice so Sherlock could still hear him from there.

"I think I should go, James," Sherlock told him now standing on the wardrobe's door.

"I still don't want you to go," Jim replied shrugging while changing into more comfortable clothes.

He could feel Sherlock scan him from head to toe, his erection was still a problem trapped in his underwear, but he ignored it. He pulled and extra pair of pyjama bottoms and a baggy tee-shirt for Shrelock, but he waited for him to say something.

"You do know we are not having sex tonight, Right?"

"I understand and that won't be a problem for me, if this is not a problem to you," he said pointing at his still unattended problem.

"It's not," Sherlock grinned, "it suits you."

"It's not funny Sherlock," Jim told him, throwing the clothes his way and walking out the wardrobe.

"It kind of is—, for me," Sherlock responded after a moment, walking out of the wardrobe wearing only a pair of Calvin Klein's bóxer briefs that left very little to Jim's imagination, "I hope you don't mind, I like sleeping in my underwear.

Sherlock Holmes was definitely going to be the end of him.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"Yes, of course I am, James," Sherlock answered with a smirk, but before Jim could even release a huff of relief, Sherlock added matter-of-factly, "I usually sleep completely naked."

"Gawd! Just shut up and get in bed, will you?"

 **AN/: Hello everyone, I would like to thank all the readers in Wattpad, because this story hit number one in the Sheriarty tag rating this week (how ever that works), which is huge for me. That being said, I hope you are all enjoying this story so far, as you must know now, I decided for flirty demisexual Sherlock, if you must know, he is not a virgin, but he'll continue to tease Jim this way because, well, he can. I know demisexuality works in different ways for everyone and I'm not quite sure if I'm portraying it right here, with all the flirty heated stuff going on, I apologize beforehand if I'm not. I accept suggestions and constructive criticism.**


	8. Chapter 8

Jim had been able to sleep only a few hours that night, in part because of the painful boner in his pants and in part because apparently Sherlock was a clingy sleeper and had been crushing the life out of him most of the night, he wasn't sure if Sherlock was awake when he took possession of his body to squeeze, like he was a giant teddy bear, but the boy certainly didn't let go of his crushing grip until well into the night, when he settled for laying on top of him instead, like he was the most comfortable mattress ever made.

He woke up at the sound of Sherlock's voice, talking to someone on the phone from the distance.

"Did mommy say anything because I didn't stay at home?" he asked to the person on the other end, "vacations, really?" Sherlock asked surprised by the other person's answer, "A week ago? They are having fun then, if they haven't shortened the trip as usual," he fell silent then, while the other person spoke, "tell Microft it is non of his business where I spent my nights, thank you sis, see you at the academy, you better bring my baby unharmed!" He warned in the end, walking out of the walk-in wardrobe, where he possibly thought he could talk without waking Jim up. He was obviously wrong and Jim now was scanning his every move.

"Morning, sunshine," Jim said from the bed with a huge smile upon his face, for some reason, even when he was feeling tired as hell, he was in a good mood that morning, for the first time in a long time. He had never really been an early person, yet here he was genuinely grinning at Sherlock, after waking up from a really restless night, "problems at home?"

"Not at all, good morning," Sherlock said smiling back at him, while getting back in the bed, "we still have some time to sleep a little longer, you certainly look like you could use some more sleep and yet you also look like you feel really happy about not having slept more than two hours."

"How could you possibly know I didn't sleep much? When you spent all night long snoring in my ear," Jim asked with and arched brow to the boy now laying beside him.

"I know everything," Sherlock said grinning wider.

"Maybe you know this, because you deliberately planned on keeping me awake, by your lack of clothing, flirty behavior and crushing clingy hugs," he offered.

"It's not my fault you find me so indescribably irresistible, that you can't control your body enough time to fall asleep," Sherlock said booping Jim's nose and he sent him a deathly glare in response, "don't look at me like that, I'm just stating the facts, now come here silly boy, I'll help you sleep some more."

"That, sure as hell sounds more promising than it will be," Jim commented reluctantly scooting closer to Sherlock's open awaiting arms, he didn't close the gap between them completely though, "you need to know I'm not really a cuddly person, pretty boy."

"Everyone has a cuddly side, James, they only need to find the right type of cuddles and the right person to cuddle them."

"And you think you are it, for me?" Jim chuckled.

"Why don't you just shut up and let me find out," Sherlock rolled his eyes and before Jim could give him any reply, the taller boy had him once again within his grasp. Except this time Jim was being dragged over Sherlock's slender figure, instead of being crushed under it.

Sherlock wrapped his right arm securely around Jim's shoulders, pulling him closer until Jim had no other alternative than to rest his head over his still bare chest and then placed one of Jim's arms around his waist forcing him to rest it over his also bare stomach, he finished by softly kissing Jim's forehead, "there you go, isn't this a million times better than sleeping alone, Jimmy?" he asked softly ruffling Jim's hair with his right hand.

Jim had to admit, that he actually felt at ease sharing his bed with Sherlock, even when the boy was a complete tease and that meant he would probably deal with a lot of other painful unattended boners in the near future.

"Maybe," Jim shrugged, falling silent for a moment, "yes, it is," he admitted in the end.

"So—, how many times have you woken up like this with your dearest Sebby?"

Sherlock suddenly dropped after a minute of silence and Jim's laughter reverberated against his ribcage.

"Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, Sherly?" Jim lifted his face to look at him.

"Just answer me, James," Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked away from him.

"Even though, I quite enjoy the shade of green on your features, pretty boy, I am going to answer that," Jim said and then rested his face back over Sherlock's chest, but he remained silent after doing this.

"And well—, how many?" Sherlock asked losing his patience after a moment of silence.

"Not once," Jim said almost bored, "you are the very first person I woke up with in this bed."

"That's hard to believe, you have quite the reputation at the academy," Sherlock commented.

"I know."

"So, are you saying that this reputation of yours is nothing else than corridor gossiping?" Sherlock asked and this time Jim sat up to look at him properly.

"No, I'm not saying that," Jim responded and Sherlock frowned, "those gossips are mostly true, Sherlock and my reputation, well it is well deserved, I am not going to lie, whatever you heard about Sebastian and me, or anyone else for that matter, it's most likely true," Sherlock looked away again.

"So you lied, I'm not the first one you woke up with in this bed," The taller boy stated, "don't worry, James, I didn't think I was anyway."

"In any case, you actually are, Sherlock, I didn't lie, as I said I'm not a cuddly person, pretty boy, everyone who knows me good enough, knows that they better disappear before I wake up, so, not a single one of them has ever stayed the night."

"I suppose I don't know you enough then, I'll be gone before I can cause you more inconvenients, James," Sherlock said also sitting up, ready to find his clothes and leave, but Jim stopped his moves by hugging him from behind before he could stand up.

"Stay," Jim whispered planting a kiss on the base of his neck.

"What for? You let very clear, that no one is welcome here when you wake up."

"You are," Jim whispered against his neck.

"Why? I don't understand," Sherlock inquired a tone of frustration clear in his voice, as he turned around in the embrace to look at Jim, "why do you have to be so difficult to read, James?"

"I don't know Sherlock, I'm complicated, the only thing I know, is that if you walked out now or if you did in the middle of the night, I would be pissed, I want you to stay, even if your are a bone crushing clingy monster."

"Even then?"

"Yes."

"Even if I kiss you until you cant control your body anymore and that doesn't let you fall sleep out of pain?"

"Even if you are a complete merciless tease, yes."

"Good."

Sherlock leant in and kissed him, pushing him back over the mattress.

"I thought you were helping me to sleep," Jim said between kisses, already fighting his body reactions to the almost nude boy pressed over it.

"I changed my mind, tease is the order of the day, since you love it so much and I could never deny you that," Sherlock grinned and continued kissing him heatedly.

The water was cold enough to clear his mind a little and hopefully it was loud enough to cover the grunting noises that escaped through his gritted teeth, as he wanked off in the shower, for the second time that week thanks to the tease of Sherlock Holmes', who was waiting for him right outside the door. He made it quick and finished in a matter of minutes, turning off the water and stepping out of the bathroom in his usual ridiculously small towel.

"That was quick," Sherlock said with a pout, "I was hoping to enjoy the moanings some more, although it's worth it, because look at you, almost nude and all for me," he winked, pulling him for a quick kiss.

"You are not ready for all this, Honey," Jim said signaling with his hands to the extend of his body, when Sherlock stepped away.

"Isn't that hideous?" Sherlock laughed.

"You have no idea."

"As a matter of fact, I do," Sherlock winked again and then just walked in the bathroom, half closing the door, "Please tell me the floor wont be all slippery from your spreading seed," he said peeking his head out of the door ajar.

"Didn't have time to clean up, sorry. Do be careful about unwanted pregnancy, I do not want unexpected babies forcing us to get married before we can even have a propper shag," Jim dropped disappearing in the wardrobe.

"Can't promise you that," Sherlock yelled for him to hear, "you have no idea what I like to do when I get my hands around stranger's soap bars!"

When sherlock stepped out of the bathroom, Jim was no longer in the room and a clean outfit awaited for him on the bed, with a note that said Jim was busy cooking breakfast for the both of them before they left.

By cooking, James Moriarty meant pouring milk in two bowls of cereal and burning a pair of bread slices in the toaster.

"So, where is everyone?" Sherlock asked taking a seat on the kitchen isle.

"What do you mean everyone?"

"I don't know, I just figured in a house this big, you lived with your mom or maybe a sibling."

"You figured wrong," Jim said dipping his spoon in his own bowl, "I don't have any siblings and my mom left my father when I was a child, I know nothing about her ever since."

"So you live alone."

"Yup."

"That sounds lonely."

"You get used to it."

"I'm glad I got to make you company last night then, Jim."

"Me too," Jim smirked, "quite unforgettable, that lap dance of yours, heaven on earth."

"You better like mine better than the ones Sebastian give you, or I'll never do it again—" Sherlock replied taking a spoonful of his cereal.

"Oh no, was that my last one? Why didn't you notify beforehand? I would have kicked the delivery man faster to continue and enjoy that only private show longer."

"So he's indeed better than me," Sherlock said over another spoonful of cereal.

"Maybe, how would I know? You are the only person brave enough to have tried that kind power play on me," Jim shrugged, "you see—, pretty boy, I'm usually the one holding all the power."

"And you like it just so much, don't you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do, want me to show you?"

"I think I'll pass—, for now," Sherlock clicked his tongue and got up, "we are already running late, ready to go?"

"I guess," Jim said with a pout, "one day you'll pay for all this teasing and it will be a sweet enjoyable revenge for me, now let's go, grab the violins, pretty boy, we are driving one of my father's collectible cars and you get to decide which one."


	9. Chapter 9

The following days to Sherlock's first overnight stay, were a complete craze at the academy. Irene was more than glad to spread the voice of their supposed new «now dating» status and it led to all sort of different reactions within the student population.

Jim had never been an object of attention between his peers, nor had he ever had the honor to be talk at for other reason than total disdain appreciations, or some sort of hate speech from most of them, but now everybody had something to do with him. He still received a lot of hate though, specially from the girls that had been after Sherlock for years, and even though most of them were okay with the realization of Sherlock sexual orientation, they highly disapproved of his decision to date Jim from all of the other queer guys at the academy.

So, suddenly the 10-U rehersal studio was flooded with visitors all the time, girls who either believed they had what was needed to convert Sherlock back into the straight boy they thought he was for years, or that just wanted a glimpse of the new queer couple of the Holmes Academy. Jim made sure to give the former, the gayest show they had ever observed and the latest, he generally let go wishing he stopped rejecting every attempt Sherlock made at kissing him in front of them. But from all the new visitors they were forced to receive in their sacred new rehearsing home, the worse were the guys that came to the studio, exclusively to flirt with Sherlock and try and steal him from Jim, most of them, guys that one way or another had already passed through Jim's sheets.

They might not be really dating yet, unlike everyone thought and Sherlock might as well, in all sense of the word, never been his at all, but Jim really wasn't good at sharing, and he was certainly not going to start improving that skill by sharing Sherlock Holmes.

For some days the whole thing, wasn't anything else than just annoying, he would deal with the flirty girls and boys all day and then he would take Sherlock back to his mansion, where the boy had no repair to stay the night, teasing the hell out of him with kisses and caresses, that both of them knew wouldn't lead anywhere else and then back to the academy the next day to start all over again.

It was on Friday's afternoon when Jim couldn't stand the situation anymore. Sherlock took a break from their rehersal to go to the restroom and didn't come back for a really long time. When he went off to look for him, he found some random guy literally groping the tall boy against the loo wall. Sherlock remained expressionless, while the guy nipped at his neck, leaving visible purple marks over his pristine white skin Jim could see from his place at the door step.

Sherlock looked at him from his possition almost pleading, whether it was for help or forgiveness he didn't know precicely, but he still strolled towards the two of them and pushed the guy away from his boyfriend. No, Sherlock was not his boyfriend. But, it truthfully didn't matter in that moment, as he dragged Sherlock away from the restrooms and the idiot now laying on the floor, because Jim hadn't been able to measure his strength in the rage of the moment, when he pushed the guy hard enough to make him fall back on his arse and hit his head against one of the loo stalls doors.

"James?" Sherlock mumbled as he was being dragged by the arm directly to the lift, the instruments and the rest of their belongings forgotten in the studio.

"Do not talk to me right now, Sherlock—," Jim said, pushing the lower ground button repeatedly, like that would make the lift move faster downwards.

"James, I didn't want to—, he just came at me—, and I couldn't—," this was the first time Sherlock Holmes, had ever lost his usual eloquence in front of him and here he was too enraged to enjoy it.

"I know, I'm not blind, I saw you were clearly not enjoying it and that it was all him, but that doesn't make me want less, to go back and break his neck with my bare hands and it certainly doesn't stop me from wanting to kick your arse as well, so do not give me any excuses now," Jim threatened, "because those are just hollow words to calm me down and the only thing I can think of, that could actually achive that right now, it's a decent rough shag and just so you know, I'm not imposing anything to you by saying that, I'm just stating a fact."

"Don't worry, I know you are clearly not refering to me in that matter and that you are obviously thinking about Sebastian, right now—," Sherlock mumbled, shaking Jim's strong grip from his arm.

"No, Sherlock, agh, you know what? Forget I even said anything!" Jim growled and the lift stopped on the underground car park a moment after they both fell silent, shaking his head to clear his thoughts Jim walked beside Sherlock towards the parking spot they parked at that morning. Jim then pulled of him by the wrist, forcing Sherlock to turn around and face him, just before the boy went for the passenger door. The dancer cupped his face in his hands, pulling Sherlock slightly down to look into the taller boy's eyes, "you alright, Sexy?" he asked, concern taking over his features, as the shadow of remorse darkened his eyes. Sherlock nodded and Jim stood on his tiptoes to press a kiss onto his nose, "I'm sorry, for acting like a jackass and everything, shall I take you home now, pretty boy? My home, I mean," he rapidly clarified.

"Yeah, I would like to go home, your home I mean," Sherlock smiled, pulling Jim in his embrace, when the boy tried to walk away heading for the driver door.

"Alright," Jim huffed startled by the unexpected yank.

"Alright" sherlock repeated, pecking his lips and setting him free from his embrace.

"Alright."

"You already said that like a million times, James."

"Alright," Jim replied again just to mess with Sherlock's neurotic personality.

But Sherlock just chuckled and jumped in the passenger seat, after Jim unlocked the doors.

...

"Since, it is the weekend at last and I'll soon have to stop staying every night, I brought you a present, James," Sherlock said breaking the silence that inevitably always formed when they walked through the doorstep of Jim's immense and lonely mansion.

Sherlock had been staying over night for the last two weeks straight, but his parents would soon arrive from what would be the longest trip in the history of their vacations and even when he had been successfully eluding Mycroft parental delirium on a daily basis. He knew very well, that he wouldn't be able to do the same when they arrived home and found out that he wasn't coming home at all, not even for a change of clothes, since Jim always had a perfectly well planned outfit waiting for him over the bed, when stepped out of the shower.

"What do you mean you'll have to stop staying with me?" Jim asked and his face contorted in an involuntary pout, one he quickly hid by looking away from the musician.

"Yeah, I forgot to mention my parents are coming back from their trip on Monday," Sherlock, said pulling Jim with him onto the living room sofa, the shorter boy landed over the violinist's lap, but he still was reluctant to face Sherlock's intuitive gaze, "here, got you a present," Sherlock repeated pulling a box from his trousers pocket.

"Please tell me that is not a chastity ring!" Jim said finally looking at Sherlock with a half shocked, half pleading expression, when Sherlock placed the black velvet box under his evasive vision range.

"It isn't, but you'll probably hate me more when you see what it is, than if it actually was one of those rings," Sherlock shrugged and urged Jim to open the box with a stern look.

Jim sent a wary stare his way, before he took the box in his hands and forced the lid open.

Inside he found a pair of dice, one was an ordinary six faced black dice except it had a question mark on the top face instead of a number and the other looked like one of those dice nerds use to play their nerdy games, with the 20th side facing up.

"Do I look like I have any idea of how to play Dungeons and Dragons, Sherlock?"

"They are not for Dungeons and Dragons, James, although I could teach you, if you really wanted to play."

"What are they for, then?" Jim queried rolling his eyes blank. He honestly wasn't even surprised that Sherlock knew how to play Dungeons and Dragons, I was just annoy how the boy always seemed to know everything.

"Roll the black one to its side,"Sherlock suggested and Jim complied.

The dice landed on its side and the word kiss was now displayed on the top side replacing the question mark," Jim knew what that dice was since he opened the box, he just wanted Sherlock to explain why he was giving him a sex dice along with a icosahedron. However he turned his face around enough to press a soft kiss on Sherlock's lips, just how the dice demanded.

"I was bored the other night and couldn't sleep, so I invented a game," Sherlock conveyed, when Jim wriggled his brows waiting for him to explain.

"So you stayed up all night plotting another way to make me suffer?" Jim asked, taking mock offence.

"Well—, I wasn't sleepy," Sherlock replied like he didn't understand the nature of his question and Jim just laughed at this.

"Tell me more about this game of yours," Jim asked him turning around on his lap, so he was now straddling the tall boy.

Sherlock leant his head back on the sofa backrest and his hands found their way to rest on Jim's hipbones.

"The rules are simple, you get an action from the black dice and you get to decide on what part of the other's body you want to carry this action out, based of course on the first letter of the number you get."

"But it's not much of a decision, when you make fate a part of the equation," Jim stated, "so where is the trick?

I'm sure you made it much more interesting than that," Jim dropped a fake yawn and Sherlock gave him a lopsided smile.

"You can read the number you get, in whatever language you decide, as long as you use it correctly or the other will automatically be able to steal your turn."

"That's not fair, I'm certain that you know far more languages than I will ever know, including probably some super freak ones such as Elvish, Klingon and Dothraki," Jim folded his arms over his chest and poked his tongue out in an adorable childish gesture.

"You know? For someone trying so hard to appear to hate geek and nerdy stuff, you seem really well informed about the matter, Jamie,"

"Alright, I let slip how you continuously keep calling me James, even though I know that you know how much I hate it, because that's actually my name, but call me Jamie one more time and I'm kicking you out of my house, Sheryl!"

"Okay—, I solemnly swear that I won't do it again, Ja-mie," Sherlock stretched each syllable apart, lifting his right hand in the air, as a not really trustworthy silent promise, since he had broken it, as he did so.

"Don't even start with that, pretty boy—," he dared Sherlock with a glare, jumping off his lap and getting on his feet, to

help the tall boy up, "shall we start?" He wriggled his eyebrows and when Sherlock nodded in response he started dragging the boy upstairs.

 **AN/: Hey there guys! I'm sorry I've been away for so long, truth be told I was unemployed a month ago so I decided to start taking French classes, since I had a lot of free time in my hands, a week into this intensive course I began, I found a full time job, so now I have to study at nights and I have little to none free time, I'm trying to get used to the new schedule and use my free time for writing and drawing, which is what I love to do, please bare with me, check my Instagram if you want ( dremcsart) and enjoy the chapter, lots of love.**


	10. Chapter 10

"So, Kingslayer, ain't you enjoying this game of mine? " Sherlock asked, crawling up the almost naked boy laying on his back over the bed, "lick, neuf, neun, nine, nombril, nabel, navel, " he said and in a swift move he was doing as he said, licking Jim right under his navel.

Jim groaned below him and he smirked in response, three different languages in a single turn, maybe he was showing off, yeah, but he was also enjoying it a lot. Besides, given that Jim was trying to be polite with him and didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable in any way, he had also been able to steal a lot of his turns and this served him Jim in a silver platter for him to enjoy.

"Stop calling me that, if I'm Jamie the Kingslayer, then what does that make you, Cersei the Tart?"

"I knew you had watched the Game of Thrones!" Sherlock snapped, abandoning his task to crawl up Jim's body and look him in the eye.

"Okay yeah, but to be fair to myself everyone has—, " he shrugged.

"It's your turn Kingslayer," Sherlock shrugged as well, "or should I say mine?"

Alright, maybe he was giving Sherlock too much of a leg up in the game and that had to stop, the boy needed to feel the same amount of pain as he was making him go under.

So he rolled the dice, getting the word suck and the number four.

"Suck, ceathair—," he fell silent for a moment this was the perfect opportunity to go for the big price, he had gotten the right number and just about the perfect action in the dice to use it, but would he? He debated internally for an instant, he could, he doubted Sherlock would break the rules of his own game and he wasn't so sure Sherlock would want to break them anymore, he couldn't be certain but the boy was just enjoying the game too much and James was ready to find out if Sherlock was capable of enjoying anything else about it than just torturing him, "ceathrú."

Sherlock looked at him, a bit of surprise visible in his expression, he was surely waiting for him to purposely mess up his turn again, too afraid to pick a part of Sherlock's body that would cross the line of his comfort, after all, he didn't want to put a stop to the game, thatdespite the torture and utter frustration he was enjoying so much.

Sherlock didn't move from his current position beside him over the bed, completely dressed and quiet, just waiting for him to do anything at all, and so he did.

He sat up in bed and then kneeled beside the other boy, Sherlock's hypnotic eyes fixed on him, watching his every move.

"Sher—, " he started, his fingertips ghosting Sherlock's trousers waistband, the boy nodded approvingly before he could even finish.

He took a little longer than he usually would to slid his fingers between the waistband and Sherlock's toned abdomen, just enjoying the feeling before he finally slid the trousers down.

He paralysed for a second, Sherlock laying in front of him only wearinga t-shirt and a pair of black Boxer Briefs looked amazingly appealing and for a moment he didn't know what else to do, normally by now, he would have the boy completely bare and already screaming, but this was Sherlock Holmes and he didn't want to mess up things between them.

"Wouldn't it appear to you that if someone between the asexual spectrum gave you a sex dice and invented a game exclusively for you to play with them, that would be a transparent enough clue for you to know they are somehow ready for it?" Sherlock dropped in the middle of his internal predicament and Jim couldn't do anything else than sent him a doubtful look, "to answer your question, no James, I'm not sure, this will be more of a trial and error experience to me. What I'm telling you is I'm willing to try."

"Well honey, that's all I wanted to hear," Jim said with a Cheshire cat smile taking over his face.

It took Sherlock a fraction of second to understand he had nowhere to run, it took him even less than that to contemplate he didn't want to. As Jim's fingertips slid over the pale skin of his abdomen, dragging the fabric of his tee shirt up over his head and throwing it somewhere over the floor, he felt stripped of the last barrier separating their bodies and he surprisingly found himself craving to feel the warmth of Jim's skin against his own.

Jim, however, was taking his time to enjoy the moment and the view of Sherlock laying on his bed wearing nothing else than his underwear, it was a glorious view and he was nowhere near to rush it to an end.

He leant over Sherlock to give him a short but meaningful kiss, right before he decided it was time for him to go for the price he had just earned in his turn, so he crawled down Sherlock's body, watching him closely with his attentive pitch black hungry eyes, a thrilling feeling settling down in his stomach, as he saw how Sherlock gulped visibly as he inched closer to the object of his desires.

"Okay Jim, maybe this isn't the right moment to break to you that I don't speak Irish, but I really need to know what you are about to suck because I'm kind of freaking out here," Sherlock interrupted him halfway down.

"Ná teann do leasracha," he said to tease the boy if Sherlock didn't understand the language, he was certainly going to have an anxiety attack because this looked as if Jim was just going directly for the big price. So with a wicked smile he slid his thumbs under Sherlock's boxers waistband and he could swear he saw the exact moment Sherlock's breath faltered, he leant down and placed a kiss over the taller boy's hip bone, "not yet pretty boy, " he winked descending further.

He slid his hands down Sherlock's legs painfully slow and then carefully spread them apart.

"Ceathrú—," Jim whispered pulling one of Sherlock's legs up until he bent the knee over the bed and his thigh was at the same height of his face, "is one of the words we use for thigh," he explained as he dragged his tongue all the way down from Sherlock's knee to his inner thigh, Sherlock gasped for air, "you were right Sherlock, I'm indeed enjoying this game of yours, and you know what I think?" Hestopped in his tracks talking against Sherlock's inner thigh right before he nipped at it and sucked on the pristine tenderness of Sherlock's pale skin, "I think you are too," his breath collided with the wet patch he left on Sherlock skin and he saw the goosebumps caused by it appear almost immediately, he smirked gazing up at Sherlock's visible swelling erection.

"I am, " Sherlock replied almost inaudibly with a hoarse tone.

"It shows," he winked, "you know what else I've noticed?" he asked as he moved away from Sherlock's thigh, he saw the incipient blush in Sherlock's face and the almost immediate pout forming on his lips while he inched away from his body, "It's your turn dragonslayer."

Well then, now that the scoreboard was even, revenge and torture were going to be just the order of the day for Sherlock Holmes.

AN: Short one after a long while, I know, I'm the worst, I'll keep the chapters short so I can keep them coming.


	11. Chapter 11

"Come on James, stop messing up your turns! I want you to touch me—, " Sherlock demanded, rolling his eyes after James once again made an unsuccessful attempt at a language he clearly didn't speak, it sounded a lot like Spanish but it was so bad Sherlock couldn't even be certain.

"Believe me, honey, I know—," James smirked, wriggling his eyebrows as he glanced down at Sherlock's swollen virility still trapped in his tight underwear.

"Then why won't you?"

"You are a smart boy Sherlock, why don't you find that out?"

Whoever said that 'Revenge is Always Sweet and that it's the aftertaste that's Bitter.' Had certainly never tasted the sweetness of vengeance against a smartass like Sherlock Holmes, there was no existent bitterness in the world, that could erase that taste from his mouth.

"Very well, if revenge is what you want, that's a game two can play," Sherlock shrugged trying to play it cool, but Jim noticed something was off, "my turn then, " he glanced down at what Jim got in the dice, "blow, vingt, verge," he didn't even think twice to let this words out.

Jim's eyes went wide, he might not speak as many languages as Sherlock did, but he definitely understood French.

"Sherlock—," he tried but the boy was already crawling down his body.

"Shut up, James."

"Sherlock!" He screamed and this was enough to stop Sherlock right before he pulled his underwear down, "care to tell me what suddenly went off inside that beautiful brain of yours?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, pretty boy, don't lie, you were about to blow my dick, after saying you can also play my game of revenge, care to elaborate?"

"Do you have any idea of how difficult it is for me to actually get intimate with someone, even if I like them?" Sherlock said with an expressionless mask on, "And now I give you the key and you just throw it away—."

"Who said I threw it away? I'm saving it for later, when it's more special, for you—."

"Oh yeah? And what was all that revenge game chitchat about then?"

"I endured two painful weeks of you purposely torturing me, of course, I want you to suffer that amount of frustration as well, but that doesn't mean I don't want it to be special for you when it happens virgin boy."

"I'm not a virgin!" Sherlock said unable to control the blush crawling up his cheeks.

"We both know you are," Jim singsonged.

"Well—, so what if I am? Why does that give you the right to be a dick to me?

"It doesn't matter to me that you are, if anything I'm honored to be the first person you are interested in that way and besides we both know I'm simply a total twat, whether you were a proper whore or my smartass virgin Sherlylocks," Jim said, crossing the gap between them to cup Sherlock's face in his hand, the boy tried to resist it but in the end he leant into the touch.

"If you are going to be doing this, can I at least torture you as well?" Sherlock queried after he contemplated his words for a second.

"Is there anything I can say to stop you from doing it anyway?" Jim rolled his eyes, knowing the answer beforehand and Sherlock shook his head confirming it, "very well, whoever gives up first it is then."

"Can I start now?"

"Do you have to ask? I know you'll go for it anyway, so give me the best you got Sherlock Holmes," Jim leant back over the bed, pulling a pillow over his face, waiting for whatever Sherlock was to do next.

For a moment Jim didn't feel anything else than Sherlock shifting over the bed surface, it felt like he was trying to pick up something from the floor and after a few seconds, he felt him approaching again. Curiosity sparked inside him and he felt the urge to know what was Sherlock's version of premeditated torture, for some reason he doubted it would just be heated smooching and PG-rated caresses as it had been his torture agenda for the last two weeks. After a while Jim became tired of waiting to see what Sherlock was planning, so he tried to push the pillow away from his face and take a peek, but at that moment Sherlock grabbed his wrists and pinned them up over his head, it felt promising he had to admit, while Sherlock started to tie them to the headboard of the bed.

"Pillow!" He demanded, his voice muffled by the pillow after Sherlock finished tying him up and moved away from him.

"Not just yet James," Sherlock said lifting the pillow enough for him to hear clearly and then dropping it again.

He was about to fight back, but suddenly he felt Sherlock straddling his lap and his complaint just got lost into thin air.

"You see, James, I've always been a brat born in a very wealthy family, everything I ever wanted in life has always been given to me without delay and you won't be an exception to the rule, even if I have to procure myself what I want from you by force."

That sounded awfully close to a rape threat in Jim's ears.

Exciting.

But, was Sherlock Holmes of all people the one brave enough to take him by force? And was it forced when you desired it just as much as the person who's forcing it on you?

He didn't have much time to debate it before he was rendered speechless or rather thoughtless because Sherlock had plainly and simply slid his hand inside his pants to get a fistful grab at his erection.

He gasped for air, contemplating if this was really happening.

First stroke.

He fought trying to get rid of the pillow once again.

Second stroke.

He wanted to scream, whether I was from frustration or liberation he did not know.

Third stroke down to the base of his cock.

He wanted to see Sherlock's eyes while he mercilessly took away all trace of control left in his body.

As though on cue, Sherlock pulled the pillow away from his face and threw it aside.

The vision of the taller boy was really arousing at that moment, he was biting his bottom lip, his cheeks were slightly flushed pink and his eyes were fixed on Jim's in all their hypnotizing grey glory and let's not forget he was still straddling his lap.

As Sherlock swayed his hips back and forth, as though he was riding Jim at the same pace of the increasing swiftness of his hand movement, he was also driving the tied boy completely insane and increasingly impatient.

Jim fought with all his strength to retain the moan threatening to leave his throat, but he was unable to hold it in when Sherlock slid his thumb over the tip of his cock and then pulled the hand altogether from his pants with the sole intention of tasting him.

"I fail to see how is this considered torture honey," he took advantage of the little break Sherlock gave him to try and talk his way out of the subdued situation he found himself in so suddenly.

"You are a smart boy James, why don't you let me tell you anyway—?" Sherlock smirked, "the answer is easy, now that you have felt the pleasure my touch can give you, I can take it away from you when I please and just sit back and watch you beg for more."

"Maybe you don't know this about me, Sherlylocks, but I don't beg for anyone's touch," James huffed in response and something about his determined gaze told Sherlock he was probably not bluffing about that.

"Oh well, thanks for letting me know James, I see now that touch is probably not your dominant sense, but how about we try the sight now?"

It took Jim less than a second to realize he had screwed up his chances to win this battle and before he could even say a word to try and fix it, Sherlock digged his hand into his own underwear.

"I could warn you it will be worse for you if you close your eyes, but then, you won't want to, I suppose," Sherlock said in a silky tone he wasn't even aware he could produce, as he started stroking his own erection, his boxer briefs slid down a little with every stroke letting his sex more and more exposed to Jim's sight, and he slowly realized the whole revenge idea crawled under his skin with more force than the embarrassment he knew he ought to be feeling.

Normally, Jim could get free from about any knot he was tied with, but Sherlock had been as exceptional at tying him as he would be in about any other task given to him and he knew instantly he wouldn't be able to get free without a little inspection of his crafty work, he also knew there was no power strong enough on earth who could make him take his eyes off Sherlock Holmes to do that right now.

In no time Sherlock started panting in front of him, hand buried in his underwear, sex half exposed at sight, flushed cheeks and parted lips. Jim quickly realized this vision of Sherlock Holmes was like crack to his brain and he made a vow to always try and replicate it for his own pleasure, he was done with vengeance all he wanted now was making Sherlock enjoy the way he was now on his own.

"Look at me," Jim demanded when Sherlock threw his head back on the verge of climax, "I want you to come looking me in the eye, " his voice was hoarse and somehow threatening, Sherlock just complied, "come for me now Sherlock Holmes.

One last stroke and his stomach was painted white, he fought not to collapse over Jim's body when the orgasm struck him, but he had to steady himself with his hands firmly pressed against the Jim's chest in order to do so.

"How was that, pretty boy?" Jim asked when Sherlocks breathing started to relax.

"Better than watching porn?" Sherlock offered when he fully recovered from the orgasm, "but I wouldn't know, that's for you to tell me, after all, you were the one who watched," he winked moving to lay beside Jim.

"Oh, you bet your ass it was much better than porn, honey," Jim exclaimed looking away from Sherlock for second to get rid of the bond around his wrists, "well—, maybe it didn't beat BDSM for me but it was close enough," he winked, inspecting the scarf Sherlock used to tie him for a moment, before he threw it away.

"I have a riding crop at home," Sherlock offered and Jim chuckled in response.

"I don't think our relationship is in a flogging basis yet, love, but I'll definitely have it in mind in a future opportunity" he smiled at the other boy and this yawned in response, "are we feeling a little worn-out maybe?" Jim asked and Sherlock simply nodded, "come on then twat, it's my turn to give you cuddles."

Sherlock Holmes was a real piece of work, luckily for Jim, he loved a good challenge, but for now he would let Sherlock enjoy his victory, he certainly had earned the little satisfaction of beating him in his own game.

AN/: let myself get a little carried away, opinions?


End file.
